


Grey Rainbow

by PencilTrash



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Laura Hale, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski are the Same Age, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Jock Stiles, Lydia is a Good Friend, M/M, Nerd Derek Hale, Nerd Stiles, Nightmares, Non Graphic, Oblivious Stiles, One scene of Sexual Assault, Panic Attacks, Pining Derek, Recovery, Roommates, Teen Derek, background Lydia/ Jackson, kickboxer Stiles, ‘Skip it’ link available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 20:52:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8028517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PencilTrash/pseuds/PencilTrash
Summary: “Stiles?” Derek glanced at Stiles’ sleeping form. He didn’t even twitch. Derek continued. “If we…” his lips curved in a fond smile, fingers moving to smooth the creases of Stiles’ eyebrows, his voice coming as whisper. “... as in, you and me - If we get a chance someday… any day, to be together, y’know? I wouldn't mind you wooing me with flowers and all that cliched romantic shit. And you can even flirt with me. I approve.”He gazed at Stiles’ calm face for a long while before drifting off into quiet slumber with the sound of Stiles’ soft snoring in the background.[aka, after pinning for his best friend for four years, Derek learns his teenage crush is easy, but his life isn’t]





	Grey Rainbow

**Author's Note:**

> * Thank you [Jonjo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Jonjo), [Benaya](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Benaya) and [Emela ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Emela)for the beta work and/or read through. You are amazing! <3  
> * Fanart by the incredibly talented and my precious [Benaya](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Benaya) is available [Here](http://loveactually-rps.tumblr.com/post/150358172446/grey-rainbow-by-loveactually-rps-art-by-the) <3  
> * This is a high school, roommates, humans AU based on the TV series "Grey Rainbow".  
> * Derek and Stiles are high school seniors and eighteen, and roommates since their freshman year  
> * **Warning:** This story has one scene of sexual assault which is not graphic. But, take care if it’s a trigger for you. I’ve added a “Skip it” tag/link, in case you want to avoid the entire scene.  
>  * Mature rating for the assault scene.

******

 

“Tip number two, keep your feet moving… always.” Stiles slithered around the punch bag, his own feet bouncing on the gym floor, as if practicing some elegant tango moves.

Derek was lost. His eyes refused to move away from the gentle curves of his best friend’s lean waist. He flinched as the boy next to him - Greenberg - screamed, throwing wild punches at another poor sand bag.

“Uh, tip number three…” Stiles squinted at Greenberg who was still yelling at the top of his voice. “Don't shout like a dying hippo… ever. Save your energy and just breathe.” He gave his best cheesy smile to Greenberg who hissed at him in response, probably must have heard his expert advice.

Derek snorted. “Now c’mon,” he wrapped his arm around Stiles’ shoulder, “I wanna try it in the ring.”

“Okay,” Stiles shrugged. “You got it. Best of three.”

“Not with you.” Derek rolled his eyes.

“Wha-” Stiles twirled to look at him, his mouth gaping. “Why not?” he finished, sounding almost hurt. It was adorable and Derek’s heart pathetically stuttered in his chest.

“Nah, you'll go easy on me,” Derek ruffled Stiles’ hair, eyes scanning the room for a possible opponent. “I wanna learn. I want a real fight, y’know?”

“Oh, did I hear _fight_?”

It was Jackson Whittemore, the only student who could dream of bettering Stiles -  the undefeated school champion - by challenging Derek to a kickboxing match. They both shared a mutual hatred for each other and Derek, who had been Stiles’ shadow for four whole years, wasn't spared from the crossfire of their cold war.  

Speaking truly, kickboxing wasn't the only reason for the bad vibes between the two most promising athletes at Beacon High. It was also Lydia Martin - Jackson’s girlfriend of these four years, ex girlfriend now, and a girl Stiles had dreamt about since third grade.

Derek liked Lydia though, she was a friend. In fact, it was Derek who knew her and her family and properly introduced her to Stiles in their freshman year.

Beneath the cutting pangs of jealousy, Derek knew Lydia was the most genuine person he'd ever known and if Stiles somehow managed to end up with her, he would try and be happy for them. Nah, not really, he didn't want to think about Stiles with Lydia, or Stiles with anyone else for that matter. Why the hell had fucking Jackson broken up with her just when Derek was finally gathering the courage to open up about his feelings for Stiles.

They were high school seniors and it had been four goddamn years that Derek had been hopelessly in love with his roommate - his best friend.

“Jackson, don't you dare mess with Derek,” Stiles growled at him, moving in between them, pushing Derek behind him with one hand.

How could he _not_ love Stiles?

“It's okay, Stiles.” Derek gently squeezed Stiles’ shoulder, halting him from launching at the other glaring boy. “I can handle him.”

“No you can't.” Stiles turned around, tugging at Derek's arm. “He’s an asshole. He’s gonna hurt you just... just to get back at me,” he spat, without actually bothering that the said asshole was listening to their conversation right now and getting more pumped up, eager to crack a few of Derek’s bones. But Derek couldn't back off now, especially when Stiles was being all worried for _him_. He strived for the attention he got from these little displays of Stiles’.

Jackson interrupted his chain of thoughts. “Oh, Derek, are you gonna hide behind your _boyfriend?_ ”

“I accept,” Derek blurted out, before he could think, before he could freak out over _the forbidden word_ and before he could face the fury… disgust the same word had caused on Stiles’ face.

He knew it was probably a mistake the moment he saw the evil smirk on Jackson’s face.

Several bruises and an almost broken rib later, Derek had learnt the hard way. It was indeed a mistake.

“Do you still remember your name?” 

Derek glared at Stiles.

Stiles smiled. “So tip of the day is?” he leaned closer, patching the particularly irritating cut on Derek’s temple with a bandaid.

“... Jackson’s an asshole,” Derek agreed, low under his breath.

They were sitting on the nearby bleachers while Stiles securely held Derek’s wrist and started uncurling the hand-wraps from his fingers. He huffed out a laugh at Derek's comment, jostling his sore hand in the process.

“Ow!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Stiles apologised, searching his face with wary eyes. Then he fixed his piercing gaze in back somewhere, on Jackson, shooting daggers at him. “You'll pay for this,” he hissed openly, his eyes so cold they drew a shudder from Derek's spine.

  


******

  
  
  
  


**Out Law: What LGBT Youth Should Know about Their Legal Rights**

Derek’s eyes hovered over the printed letters on the book cover, hesitating for a moment thinking if he should borrow the book from the library.

“Whatcha doing?”

He snatched his hand back, his grip tightening over the book's spine, hiding it.

It was, of course, Stiles.

“C'mon, show me.” Stiles pretty much pushed into Derek's personal space, trying to peek behind his back to get a closer look at the book, his hand clutching at Derek's hip to stop him from moving away.

“Stiles, get off. It's for my thesis.” Derek tried to step back, dragging the book out of Stiles’ reach, barely avoiding hitting the surrounding wooden shelves in that congested place.

“Nah, why are you hiding it? Got it!” Stiles shouted in triumph, tugging the book from Derek's clasp.

As he took in the title of the book, his mocking tone flattened instantly and Derek squirmed on the spot, not able to come up with even a basic retort.

Four years together and they had never touched on the topic of their sexuality.

Stiles raised his head finally, meeting Derek's eyes. Derek was dreading his reaction, waiting. He expected shock, or disappointment, even teasing, but Stiles’ lips spread in a soft smile, calm and reassuring.

Derek felt a knot loosen in his chest. He breathed.

“Here,” Stiles offered the book back to him without uttering another word.

Derek snatched it. “Always trying to poke your nose into my business,” he murmured, without any real heat in his words.

By then, the other students had started throwing them irritated glances.

“C'mon grumpy pants, let's get the hell outa here.” Stiles tugged at Derek's hand, fidgeting as Derek signed for the book then leading him out of the library, their fingers locked. “I've got some funky news to tell you. Hurry up!” He turned and winked over his shoulder at Derek.

Oh boy, Derek knew this wasn't going to end well.

“Danny's boyfriend is throwing a party tonight,” Stiles shrieked as soon as they stepped outside the library, shimmering with unnecessary excitement. Stiles was never a fan of wacky parties.

Stiles wasn't a typical jock, he was a kickboxing champion, true, but he was also one of the top in the class who had a definite plan to attend Yale or Stanford along with Derek. He easily mingled with Derek’s other nerdy friends and no one dared to lay a finger on Derek, fearing Stiles would kick their asses.

Derek was a fan. He’d worshipped Stiles from the day he had first tumbled into their shared dormitory room four years ago.

“And?” Derek deadpanned, concentrating hard on the current topic in hand.

Stiles made an exasperated sound. “And? _Jesus_ , since when did you get so boring, Derek?” he flailed his hands everywhere, as if that would somehow convey the importance of this event. “Danny’s boyfriend, um, what’s his name- yes- Ennis. He’s invited all his friends along, as in me, you and…” he paused, scanning Derek's eyes, waiting till he got his full attention. “... Lydia.”

“Oh...”

“Oh? I gave you this fabulous news and you give me _oh?_ ”

“I heard, Danny's boyfriend is a college senior.” Derek didn't know what else to come up with as an excuse. “There will be booze and all that shit.”

“C'mon, Derek, we're eighteen! And… It's my best chance to woo Lydia Martin. I can't wait to see Jackson’s face when she starts dating me. I want to wipe that smug smirk off of his face.”

“Stiles,” Derek placed his hand on Stiles’ chest, which was heaving frantically. He hoped the touch would help. He could feel the pounding of Stiles’ heart just under his palm. He fixed his gaze on Stiles. He could see all the unspoken questions in those whiskey-brown eyes in front of him.

Stiles had stopped talking. He wasn't even moving.

Derek broke the silence. “Do you want to date Lydia because you like her, or because… you hate Jackson?”

Stiles’ bambi eyes widened even more.

“Wh… what kind of question is that?” Stiles stuttered. He tried to shrug it off. “Well, technically, it's one and the same thing.”

“No, it's _not_ ,” Derek snapped, making Stiles wince with sudden force of his words. “Lydia is our friend. Don't you-”

“I won't,” Stiles cut him with a surprisingly calm tone, moving right in front of Derek. “At least, lemme try. Let me check if I can have this with her. It's been ten years, Derek.” He didn't move his eyes away from Derek, as if seeking some kind of approval.

Derek was doomed.

“Okay,” he managed a quick nod. How in the hell he was supposed to survive this, approving efforts of the love of his life to win some girl, Jesus Christ, even helping him with his silly wooing plans.

“I can't come to the party,” he muttered, looking anywhere but at Stiles.

“Huh?” Stiles almost twisted his neck in his haste to look at Derek.

Derek had never said _no_ to Stiles. It was tough digesting it, for both of them.

“I… I have to complete my chemistry assignment. Last time, I almost got detention from Harris and-”

“Derek, _please_?” Stiles pleaded, looking almost on the verge of losing it. He might be wondering what had gotten into Derek today. He tried to convince Derek. “Harris’ just trying to get you because I corrected his damn formula in the last class.”

“Why d’you always think that everyone’s trying to get me, because of _you_?” Derek wasn't even sure why he was complaining. He just wanted to stop having this conversation with Stiles and maybe sleep for a thousand years.

“Because… they _are_ , Derek.” Stiles seemed unfazed by Derek's irritating tone. “Please help me. I need you.”

Derek swallowed. It took every ounce of his patience to ignore the intensity of Stiles’ pleas and not dither over his decision.

“No,” he repeated, his voice firm as stone. His heart wasn't big enough yet to cut a piece out of it and serve it up to someone else on a silver platter. He knew he would get there eventually, but not today.

“Okay,” Stiles said, taking a step back with one final lingering look at Derek, his expression quite unreadable.

Thankfully, he didn't push Derek after that, but Derek could feel the weight of his constant gaze throughout that day.

Seriously, how in the hell was he supposed to survive this?

  
  


******

  
  


Derek read the same line from the book, again. In the last hour he'd not moved past the first paragraph. He laid the book flat on his chest, grabbing his phone from the side table.

Thirteen text messages and four missed calls, all from Stiles.

He scrolled through a few messages.

**This is awesome. You're missing all the fun**

**Greenberg is running around naked. Yuk**

There was a photo attached to the next message. Nope, Derek wasn't opening that one for sure. He was in no mood to witness Greenberg’s junk.

**I think I just got a date with Lydia**

Derek’s fingers froze on the screen, heartbeat rabbiting. He let out a heavy sigh, forcing himself to breathe. He should probably get used to this. The sooner the better, he thought. He moved on to the next message.

**so drunk**

**just spilled my stomach in the bathroom**

**head’s spinning**

**I c two**

**Cm n get me Derekkkkk** \- the last one read.

Derek shot up from his bed. The last text really got him worried. He started pacing the length of their room. Fifteen minutes later and he was about to snatch his jacket from his desk chair, ready to fetch Stiles, stopping only when he heard shuffling noises outside the door.

When he hauled the door open, Stiles stumbled into him out of nowhere.

“Ugh,” he struggled to get a grip on Stiles’ wobbly form. “Stiles...”

They were almost the same height, so Stiles’ sharp bones were poking into him everywhere. Thankfully, Stiles was at least lighter in weight. He dragged him inside the room, hugging his slack body from chest to toe. He somehow managed to dump him on one of the beds, Derek didn't care whose it was at that moment.

He shook his head, glaring down at Stiles, who was sprawling apparently on Derek's bed. Perfect.

“De-rekk,” Stiles hiccuped, blinking up at Derek, his eyes heavy and drooping. “I missed you.”

Derek’s hands stilled on Stiles’ shoe laces.

“You're just drunk,” he huffed after a moment, without looking at Stiles. He continued taking the shoes off and then quietly moved to remove the socks. Stiles wiggled his free toes, teasing him.

When Derek glared at Stiles, his face was split into an ear to ear grin.

“Why didn't you come to the party, Derek?” Stiles’ smile had vanished the next second, his eyes glassy with the overwhelming effect of alcohol, looking hurt. “We're always together… always.” He raised his hand to his neck, caressing the silver locket of his chain, the way he always fiddled with it whenever he was nervous.

The locket had belonged to Stiles’ mother, her last memento. It had a swallow carved on it, a symbol of freedom and hope, and Derek knew touching it helped Stiles to soothe his jitters. Stiles always did it before his kickboxing matches - kissing the locket with rare seriousness and then shooting a last look at Derek tracking him easily wherever he was sitting in the stands, before stepping inside the ring.

Derek couldn't take the agitated look on Stiles’ face. He scooted on the bed, adjusting himself in the tiny place Stiles had failed to occupy. He rolled on his side, facing Stiles.

“So, um, you got a date with Lydia?” he asked, distracting Stiles.

Stiles’ face flattened at that. “I'm Drunk, Derek… not stupid.” His gaze was intense. “Why have you been acting so distant?”

Derek didn't answer, just pursed his lips tight.

“Yeah, yeah, try and avoid me all you want, but just so you know, I'm gonna find out… soon,” Stiles said, like it was a challenge.

Derek should probably have said something. He'd assumed he'd been pretty successful with his avoidance plan, but of course Stiles noticed.

“Don't be silly, Stiles.” He shifted on his back, fixing his eyes on the ceiling, to hide away from Stiles’ glances. “C'mon now, tell me about it. Are you taking her to a restaurant? Movie? Tell me everything.”

“Nah,” Stiles sighed. From the corner of his eye Derek noticed him rolling onto his back, copying Derek's position. “She just agreed to team up with me for our history thesis.”

“O-kay. That’s not bad,” Derek encouraged. “I'm sure, you'll find a way to impress her.”

“I don't know, man. This’s all so...” Stiles struggled for the right word, “... tough,” he finally said. “I mean, it's so pathetic that you’re interested in your friend for all those damn _years_ and they ain't even aware. And… you can't just go out there and woo them with flowers and all that cliche romantic shit. You can't even fucking _flirt_ with them, because they are your friend and you want at least that, if nothing more. It's… hopeless.”

Derek couldn't agree more. His own personal experience screaming, indeed it was hopeless.

“She agreed and I freaked out, so, I, um, drank- only two shots, okay? I knew you'd kick my ass. And now I'm so tired. I wanna _sleep_. Please sing for me, Derek?” Stiles turned on his side, his hand moving to wrap around Derek's chest reaching to touch his earring.

Stiles was lost, his dreamy eyes fixed somewhere behind Derek's shoulder. He started twirling the silver ring. The habit he'd developed since he'd gifted the gleaming jewellery to Derek on his eighteenth birthday the last month.

Stiles had wanted to give him something that matched his locket. Apparently, he'd chosen the earring to replace Derek's usual diamond stud. And because it was from Stiles, Derek never took it off.

“Shut up and close your eyes,” Derek commanded. He fluttered his own eyes closed, losing focus to the gentle brushes of Stiles’ fingers against his jaw. A moment past in utter silence and then he started humming a song, the one his mother used to sing after their bedtime stories all those years back.

Stiles was out in minutes.

“Stiles?” Derek glanced at Stiles’ sleeping form. He didn’t even twitch. Derek continued. “If we _…”_ his lips curved in a fond smile, fingers moving to smooth creases of Stiles’ eyebrows, his voice coming as whisper. _“..._ as in, you and me - If we get a chance someday… any day, to be together, y’know? I wouldn't mind you wooing me with flowers and all that cliched romantic shit. And you can even flirt with me. I approve.”

He gazed at Stiles’ calm face for a long while before drifting off into quiet slumber with the sound of Stiles’ soft snoring in the background.

  
  
  
  
  


******

  
  


**Creative Photo Studio**

Derek glanced at the flashy yellow board and followed Stiles inside the shop.

"And why are we here, Stiles?” he asked, eyes scanning the colorful photographs from the display. They’d left the dorms thirty minutes early and Derek was wondering if Stiles needed an extra morning practice in the school gym.

“Lydia asked me to collect her drama poster from here.” Stiles’ voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“ _Lydia_?” Fuck, That must have come out all wrong, but Derek couldn't help and frowned at the name. “Drama?” he corrected himself in haste.

“Yeah,” As Stiles confirmed, Derek vaguely remembered Lydia playing the female lead for the Shakespeare skit this year. “Their practice’s starting today and the studio was on the way, so uh, I said yes,” Stiles added. He probably must have noticed fluctuations in Derek’s tone and Derek could feel the heat rising to his ears.

Luckily, Stiles wasn't looking at him and shot a casual smile at the young man behind the counter. “Can we get a parcel for Lydia Martin?” He handed over the receipt.

Derek moved to take a closer look at the photo frames on the shelves, his eyes catching on the carved wooden one from the bottom shelf.

“Here.” The man rolled the poster neatly, offering it to Stiles. Derek felt his brief looks. “By the way, it's our shop’s anniversary today,” he added after a beat.

“That's great, dude,” Stiles enthused. “Congratulations.”

“You're our first customer of the day,” The man beamed. Even Derek shifted his attention to them. “So...” he took a dramatic pause, “... as our privileged customer, you get a free photograph on behalf of our studio.”

“Oh, wow.” Of course, Stiles wasn't expecting this. He just gaped at the man, his lips parted in awe, just the way Derek adored. He couldn’t help and huffed out a laugh.

“C'mon in.” The man waved at Stiles, calling him inside his workshop. Stiles hesitated, throwing uncertain glances at Derek.

 _Go_ , Derek mouthed at him, encouraging him to follow the photographer - Matt Daehler, as the laminated certificates on the wall suggested.

“No.” Stiles jerked his head, almost threatening him with wide eyes. “You too come with me.”

“Me? No! I can't-”

“Sure, you can,” Matt cut in mid sentence. He tilted his head, eyes leering at Derek’s body, up and down. “I don’t mind if you join your friend.” - which was, Jesus, way too creepy to Derek’s taste.

Before he could say anything, Stiles walked up to him, wrapping his arm around Derek's shoulders. “Yes, you _are_ joining me.” Derek barely managed to place the photo frame back on the shelf, before Stiles yanked him inside the room.

Stiles was in good mood, it seemed. He responded with enthusiastic poses towards the camera - making the peace sign behind Derek’s head, sometimes wrapping his arm around Derek giving him comfy hugs - and Derek, well, he couldn't stop laughing at his silly face, easily losing himself to the undivided attention he was getting from Stiles.

Derek wasn't sure how much time they'd spent inside the studio, but Matt was thoroughly engrossed taking candid shots one after the other, shifting his camera at different angles, shuffling around them. Derek was sure that this many definitely wasn't included in the offer.

It was Derek who stopped them. “Can we go now? We're getting late for the classes.”

“Oh, yes!” Stiles exclaimed, linking his hand in Derek's for their final photograph, pulling him closer with such a force that Derek almost lost his balance.

“Oops, sorry!” Stiles tightened his grip around Derek's hand, his face so close when Derek turned his head just a little, and, damn, he couldn't stop gazing into those bright whiskey-brown eyes. Stiles smiled at him, fond and caring, which did things to Derek's heart.

Click.

Matt got his last shot.

“Thank you, guys. It was fun capturing you two on film.”

They broke apart.

Matt hung his camera around his neck. He took a step forward, approaching Derek, looking as if he wanted to say more. “... especially _you_ ,” he enunciated the last word, gesturing at Derek. “You've got a really nice smile.”

Derek froze on the spot, unsure of how to react.

He wasn’t anticipating this. All these years he’d spent around Stiles, and no one had ever bothered to comment on his smile, not even girls. Everyone was convinced that they were _together_. He knew, Jackson was. But something inside him felt quite wrong. The words were, well, flattering, but Derek squirmed under the lewd glares from the stranger.

“Th- thanks,” he stuttered, not meeting Matt’s eyes, or even Stiles’ for that matter. His face flooded with heat. He wanted to hide.

“Would you like anything _else_?” Matt asked, suddenly desperate as Derek started hesitating. His eyes still scanning Derek like a x-ray machine, a smug smile plastered over his face. Derek struggled to get his words out.

“Yes,” Stiles interrupted them, and Derek breathed, happy to lose Matt's attention. “I'll buy the photo frame.” He raised his voice, pointing at the wooden frame that Derek had been gawking a few minutes before. He walked straight to the shelves, taking Derek along by hand. “We can frame our best photograph in this,” he whipped around, facing Derek, “Right, hon?”

And, Jesus, Derek was all confused with the sudden signals Stiles was shooting him, his hand possessively sliding on the small of Derek’s back.

“Oh,” Matt huffed, completely backing off, his face flattened with some kind of realization. “I'll… you can collect the frame tomorrow.”

“That'll be cool,” Stiles’ polite words weren’t quite matching his stern expression. He drew his wallet out and paid for all items they’d bought, even the photographs.

“What was that, Stiles?”

Stiles had literally hauled Derek outside the shop.

“God, Derek! That guy was _hitting_ on you,” Stiles was fuming, his hands flailing everywhere, nostrils flaring.

“Okay?”

“What?” Stiles yelled, his forehead creased in irritation. It was so loud that a few passers by turned their heads to stare at them. “No. That's not okay,” Stiles started pacing around Derek. “He didn't even care that you weren't comfortable. Jesus, finally I had to step in and make him realize.”

Oh…

All those cosy touches and flirting was to protect Derek’s virtue or something, for show. Something inside him cut straight through his heart.

“Leave it,” Derek hissed out, leading the way towards the school, taking long strides that Stiles struggled to match.

Throughout their walk Stiles lectured him about how he should be alert about his surroundings - _Derek, you hardly look up when you walk_ \- and something about coaching him for kickboxing and safety and all that shit which Derek wasn’t quite listening to. He was angry. Angry for being a fool and hoping for more - with Stiles.

He was quiet all the way to the school, but then, when wasn’t he, especially after the Lydia Martin episode. If Stiles didn’t notice it, Derek couldn’t even complain.

  


******

  


Derek glanced down at the silver swallow in his hand, thumb tracing the carved lines of the metal. Four years and there wasn't a single instance when Stiles had abandoned his chain. Not even once.

Derek curved his fingers around the locket, thinking about the places where Stiles could be after hitting the showers in the locker room. He checked his mobile, but there was no response to his texts. He'd already done two rounds through the gym, hoping Stiles might have decided to slog, but all in vain. So, finally, he'd decided to head towards the auditorium where he knew the drama students had gathered for their first rehearsal.

Of course, Stiles was there, sitting in the last row of the almost empty hall, where lights of the stage barely reached, quiet and alone.

“Hey,” Derek greeted him, taking a seat beside him.

“Hey,” Stiles’ response was rather dull.

Derek narrowed his eyes, catching the little twitch in his jaw when Stiles gritted his teeth cursing something under his breath. His eyes were fixated on the stage, poking holes in something. Derek followed his line of sight.

Jackson Whittemore.

“Is he in the drama club too?” even Derek was surprised.

The chair creaked as Stiles’ grip tightened on the hand rest. “Yep… male lead… Romeo,” Stiles’ voice fizzled, barely audible.

“Uh-Oh,” Derek huffed, as he watched the students gather in the middle of the stage, probably winding up the show. Jackson must have cracked some joke, because Lydia playfully patted him on the back, looking as if she was trying to suppress her laugh.

Yes, the entire school knew they had parted on a good note, with a promise of _let's just be friends_ , but everyone knew, you could never be _just friends_ with your ex.

“How the hell did he even get the lead role!” Stiles fumed, twisting in his seat, jostling Derek's chair in the process.

Derek knew Stiles was being biased and clearly, jealous. “Well, he’s confident,” Derek didn't know why he felt like taking Jackson’s side. “... and good looking,” he shrugged, matter of factly.

“ _What_ ?” Stiles’ voice echoed in the empty auditorium. He sagged in his seat hiding behind the seats in front of him. He leaned forward to whisper right at Derek's face, looking scandalized and in the mood of giving another good lecture. “What are you talking, Derek? If confidence and good looks is the criteria, then it should have been _you_ up there.”

Derek stilled in his seat, his heart stuttering. He watched Stiles’ lips moving but his brain didn’t register the words coming out, completely shutting down.

 _O-kay. Breathe_. There was no point in getting your hopes up. Stiles was just upset. He didn't really mean anything. He didn't fucking mean any of it. Derek clenched his fists, wincing when metal dug into his skin.

“You forgot… this,” he managed to croak, dangling the chain in between them.

“Shit!” Stiles’ hand moved to his neck, only to find bare skin there. His eyes widened, looking horrified. “Where- I don't -” he stammered, he’d almost lost it, the last memento of his mother, a memory.

Derek blinked at him once, nodding, a reassuring smile spreading on his lips. “You still got it.” He took Stiles’ hand, placing the locket on his palm. He curled Stiles’ cold fingers around it giving a gentle squeeze, a solid reminder that it was still there.  

Stiles’ face softened, the wrinkles of frustration from before gone. Immediately, he scrambled to hook the chain around his neck, struggling with the loose ends in the dim light.

“Let me,” Derek offered, his fingers twitching forward.

And, Stiles let it go. He shuffled, giving Derek proper access of his neck. “Thanks man,” he said with genuine gratitude.

From this close, Derek could smell the earthy sandalwood scent of his soap, still thick even after the quick shower quite a while ago. He breathed in, taking in the sweet scent of Stiles’ damp hair.

“U-Uh,” someone cleared throat, making Derek jump.

“Lydia?!” Stiles gave him just enough time to fasten the chain, before shooting up from his chair.

“Hi, Stiles,” Lydia walked up to them, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “... Hi, Derek.”

“H-Hi,” he greeted her, standing his ground bravely, hoping she’d not noticed.

“So, ready for studies?” she asked Stiles.

“Of course.”

Derek looked between them, suddenly realizing they must be talking about their combined history thesis, which they would be doing together, right now.

“Derek?”

“Huh?” he had zoned out again. Lydia was saying something, probably inviting him to join their group study, he seriously didn’t care. “I, uh,” he glanced at Stiles, whose expression was casual, knowing what he must have wanted Derek to say, “I need to go the library,” he muttered, coming out of his brooding daze.

“But it’s late,” Stiles retorted and Derek wondered, what the hell was his problem. Did he want Derek to accompany them and hop around like a lost puppy, like a third wheel? He felt a strong wave of irritation creeping up his spine.

“I’ll be quick,” he blurted out. Maybe he should take out his useless irritation somewhere else. He knew he was being selfish, for wanting Stiles all to himself. But he needed some time. They were roommates, for god’s sake, it was tough, so damn tough. It hurt, especially when Stiles was always there wherever Derek turned, all the fucking time. He knew he would come around one fine day, he hoped. God, he really should go. “Just need to check some… stuff.”

He ignored the unconvinced frown Stiles shot him and fled out of the auditorium, alone.

  


******

  


Derek didn't go to the library, he knew it was closed. There was also no point going to their room and sulking at the silent walls.

Before leaving the auditorium it hadn’t struck him that they’d driven in together in Stiles’ Jeep and now, since Stiles had left for his date - study date - he’d have to use the public transportation to get back. So, he dumped his backpack in his locker and roamed around the town.

He tried to pamper himself, buying an extra large cone of Choco-delight from Anna’s ice cream parlor, indulging in the soft swirls, savoring the crispy wafer as a distraction, but even the richness of his favorite dessert couldn't soothe his perturbed mind. He waited at the bus station, catching the first bus to arrive. The journey ended in a blur and he got off at the last stop.

Of course, he was familiar with the area. In the last four years he’d pretty much explored every single corner of the town with Stiles - nope - he wasn’t going to think about Stiles or the time they'd spent together. As the headlights of the busy traffic irritated his eyes, he took a random turn which led him to a narrow road, lined with trees and low bushes.

It was quiet there and Derek felt better after the chaos of the main street. He walked till his legs hurt, tracking various shapes and sizes of stones, stepping on dried leaves enjoying the way they crumpled under his shoes. He halted only when the buzzing of crappy music hit his ears.

He raised his head, properly scanning the area for the first time. The flickering colorful lights rang a few bells in his mind. It was a local bar, that usually witnessed fights between it’s shabby customers more than providing a good place to drink. Derek moved forward, the hair on his neck rising, speculating about the cheap place as he quietly passed it by.

That was when he saw the men - a few half naked men in uncomfortably tight pants and heavy make up - lined up along the walls of a gloomy alley adjacent to the bar.

“Wanna have fun for a night?”

Shit...

His heart skipped a beat. He increased his pace, avoiding eye contact, ignoring the catcalling as he tried to stride away quickly, making himself as invisible as he could. He kept walking until the voices completely subsided. He stopped for a moment and dared to look over his shoulder.

The road was empty, shimmering in the milky moonlight. Derek let out a sigh, letting his choked breath free. He should go now, his brain provided.

“Hey, pretty boy.”

He jumped at a sudden words, turning around, catching sight of a man leaning out from the window of his parked car. His eyes were heavy, red rimmed, his head lolling to one side, burdened from his drunken state.

Derek’s heart started pounding in his chest. He hurriedly walked past, crossing in front of the man’s car, hoping - praying that avoiding a conversation would somehow avoid the forthcoming confrontation. He heard the car door click open, he was so wrong.

Before Derek could think of turning around and hurrying to the safety of a more public place - it didn’t matter if it was some cheap bar - the said man was standing in front him.

“How much?”

Derek snapped his head up at that disdainful question. The man was tall, his muscles bulging as he crossed his arms over his chest, completely unfazed by Derek’s disinterest.

“Go away,” Derek hissed, trying to move around the man who was blocking his way.

“Wanna get a room?” the man didn’t budge, he followed Derek. “C’mon, just tell me how much you want. Hey -”

Derek spun around. “I’m not a hooker!” he shouted, hands curling into fists at his side, which had exactly the wrong effect.

The man stepped forward directly into Derek's personal space and tried to catch his wrist. On reflex, Derek dodged it. The acrid scent of alcohol burned his nostrils as the man leaned in trying to reach for his neck. Derek pushed him away.

Derek wasn't sure if it was his strength or just the man’s overall wobbly condition, but he stumbled backwards, hitting the side of his car. Derek winced at the impact. He watched as the man recovered quickly, the pain in his dark eyes turning into something menacing. Derek stepped back, ready to run. But before he could, _bang_ -

Derek had taken a punch before when Stiles had hit him by accident during training. It wasn't even a week since he'd survived a so called practice match with Jackson, but nothing could stand in comparison to this unskilled strike. As it hit him hard, Derek literally saw white, his breath knocked out of him. He wasn’t even sure if it was a hand or some weapon that the man had used for the attack. The next moment, he was falling, hitting the ground face first.

Blank…

 

_** [Tag: Skip it!]** _

When he came to his senses, his head was ringing. He felt a heavy weight pressed on top of him, his limbs locked and brain dizzy. He could feel hands moving all over him, slipping under his shirt, touching his skin, then moving further down to clutch at his thighs and the painful, wet sensation between his legs, as if a string was being pulled straight from the core of his aching gut.

He snapped his eyes open, unable to grasp his surroundings. It was dark and constricting and suffocating - a car’s backseat. The memory of the assault flooded back to him. _Fuck,_ his stinging eyes shifted downwards where his lower body was pinned to the seat, registering the sight of his barely unbuckled pants and a dark head bobbing on his exposed cock.

“St-” _Stop_ , he wanted to cry, which came out as a low gurgle. _No, this can't -_ He tried to move, but his limbs felt numb. He opened his mouth again to scream for help, something, anything. He flinched as nails dug into him, teeth scraped his tender skin, the pain shooting straight to his brain.

A big eighteen year old virgin, rarely been touched even for his own pleasure - _this was happening to him_ _-_ No _\- No -_ He twisted, gathering every ounce of his remaining energy making the man whip his head up.

“G-Get off me,” Derek started kicking his legs, his voice was hoarse, but at least it was working now.

The man tried to climb over his body, pressing a solid hand on his chest. “Shut the fuck up and enjoy!” the man barked into his face, eyes loaded with wild lust.

 _Enjoy?_ A sudden fury came over Derek, like an erupting volcano. His hands were free.

_Target… Jab… Snap…_

Stiles’ words echoed in his ears, his fists moving in sync, leaving the man’s targeted nose a bloody mess. Derek pushed him, freeing himself from under his hulking weight as the man fell off into the gap between the seats. Derek fought with the door handle, panting as he struggled to catch his breath, his hands were a shivering mess.

_Open up, open up, please._

Suddenly, a hand clutched at his ankle, in a desperate attempt to haul him back in. Derek tried to kick again, his grip on the handle slipping. He swung his other leg as a last attempt, which landed hard on the man's neck. _That should do it_.

Derek pushed the door open and tumbled out of the car, crawling, struggling to stand on his shaking legs. He tried to buckle his loose pants, barely able to hold on to anything.

_** [Tag: No, I'd like to read it]** _

And then, he ran, not even waiting to catch his breath.

His legs were trembling, unable to control his body, eyes blurry as they flooded with tears. He was scared, shaken. He stumbled down a few times, scraping his knees and elbows, but didn’t spare the time to give his injuries a second look. A series of quiet, unknown backstreets passed in a blur as he ran like his life depended on it. It probably did.

His head was exploding, pain blasting through every single vein inside. In the eerie silence, the sound of his footsteps thudded in his ears, mixing with loud pounding of his traumatized heartbeat. Beads of sweat trickled down his spine and his limbs felt numb. He didn't care if he was on the right path, he didn't know if he was. He just wanted to reach somewhere public, noise and chaos had never felt so safe.

The lights of moving vehicles caught his eyes from a hundred yards away. He increased his pace. His feet couldn't stop when he reached the main road, making him collide with someone as he took a desperate turn.

“Watch it!”

“S- Sorry,” Derek muttered, barely audible, more out of habit than a conscious decision. The impact made him disoriented and dizzy, but he kept running, ignoring the displeased glares till his stomach couldn't take it any longer.

He threw up in a trash can at the side of the road. The pungent smell turning his insides again. He slid down against a wall, sitting on the rough surface of the sidewalk, his legs had completely given out, not able to run even an inch farther. He pulled his knees to his chest, curling up like a ball, hoping to suppress the bile that was on its way to erupting from his stomach again.

He took a moment, tried to control his frantic breathing, before taking his phone out and dialing with his shivering fingers.

“Derek?!” Stiles answered on the first ring as if he was waiting for him. “Why ain’t you answering your calls. I was-”

“St-” Derek sucked in a breath. He wanted to speak, damn it, he _needed_ to, but a sudden wave of overwhelming emotions choked his words down his throat.

“Derek?” Stiles voice was cautious this time. “Where are you, Derek?”

“St-” he still couldn’t get it out. He pressed his lips together, trying to get a grip, rubbing a hand over his face, wiping away the heavy tears which had started rolling down his cheeks.

“You’re scaring me. _Are you alright?_ ” Stiles was freaking out, his voice was cracking. “Where are you? Answer me, Derek. Derek?”

“Come and get me, _Stiles_ ,” Derek broke down. He started crying hysterically, shaking as the words came out with a shuddering breath. “ _Please come and get me._ ”

“I -I’m coming to get you. Just-” Stiles paused, probably to control his own nerves. “Tell me where you are. Can you please do that, _please?_ ”

Derek looked around for a brief second. “M- Market,” he stuttered out.

“Derek, listen to me. Just calm down, okay? I’m on my way. Keep talking to me.” Derek heard the roar of an engine at the other end.

He didn’t say a word, he couldn’t.

He held on to his phone for dear life and listened to Stiles’ voice - as he described his whereabouts and tried to calm him down with soothing words, asking him to breathe - for the next thirty minutes.

  


******

 

The thirty minutes seemed enough time for him to get his senses back.

He gathered his slack limbs, dragging himself up from the ground and slumped onto a nearby concrete bench, adrift and despairing. Stiles’ buzzing tone in his ear was his only sense of hope, everything else - was dark. He was cold, so cold. His uncovered hands shivered in the night breeze, prickling his skin into goosebumps, or was it the fact that -

_Someone had tried to rape him, had sexually molested him._

A shudder washed over his entire body, the thought of what had happened engulfing him with terror and disgust.

Of course, he'd heard about it before, read it in the newspapers, seen it on television, the blurred faces sharing their traumatized experiences about what had happened to them, how it had happened to them. It just never occurred to him that _he_ would find himself on that list.

 _Why him?_ His mind screamed. One calm moment to think and he’d have been in his room - jealous and sulking but definitely unhurt - untouched. He wrapped his arms around himself, swallowed the thick lump in his throat and screwed his eyes shut. He waited for the tremors to pass.

He wanted to forget it.

He wanted to forget everything as if it was a nauseating dream but he couldn’t, not when the aching bump at the back of his head was a solid reminder of the incident and when his cheek was sore and stinging. Not when he could still feel the ghost of the man’s disgusting touch all over him.

“Derek!” He was too lost in his thoughts to realize Stiles had skidded to a halt and knelt down in front of him, grabbing his arms.

It was so sudden that the contact made him jump. He even tried to jerk away.

“Hey, hey-” He relaxed at the sound of Stiles’ soothing voice. He snapped his head up, confirming if it really was Stiles and sagged into his touch. “I’m here. I’m here.”

_He was here._

“Jesus Christ, Derek - What happened? Why-” Stiles choked on his words, eyes scanning Derek’s face, looking shocked and panicked and Derek didn’t even want to think about what he must look like at that moment.

Derek tried to speak, but his lips trembled.

“Derek, are you alright?” A second voice caught him off guard.

It was Lydia.

Apparently she must have been with Stiles when Derek had called. She was a friend after all and probably worried about him too.

“Derek, who beat you up? Are you hurt?”

Derek swallowed. He gazed at Stiles with blank eyes and then, glanced back at Lydia. He hesitated. “I, uh… someone - hit me,” he mumbled like a robot, his voice so low and hollow that even he didn’t believe his own words.

Stiles stared at him for a solid minute, his eyes sharp as if searching for Derek’s soul. “Who?” he asked, expression cold, looking seconds away from bashing someone.

His assailant’s face flashed in front of his eyes and he winced, feeling an undercurrent of panic rising. “I - I don’t know -” he muttered, eyes wavering away from Stiles’, taking in thick gulps of air.

“Derek, are you sure?” Stiles knew him too well to miss his hesitation. He must have figured out that Derek was hiding something.

“I said _I don’t know him,_ ” Derek snapped, which, at least, wasn’t a lie.

“Derek…” Stiles steadied his jaw, letting out an exasperated huff, barely holding onto his patience. “Derek, look at you,”  he moved backwards, creating some space between them, hands still holding onto Derek. His eyes tripped over Derek’s disheveled state - the untucked shirt, crumpled pants, his face. “Why did he hit you? You never fight with anyone. _You wouldn’t even hurt a fly_ ,” his voice was frantic and laced with overwhelming concern. “How dared he...”

“Stiles,” Lydia interrupted him, but he didn’t take his eyes off of Derek. “Let’s take him to a doctor,” she suggested.

“Yes,” Stiles agreed, suddenly coming out of his daze. He shot up onto his feet, looking down at Derek. “Let’s go.”

Derek took the outstretched hand, quietly nodding at Stiles.

 

******

  


The rest of Derek’s night was trauma free. He was with his close friends and after reaching the room, he’d dozed off due to the heavy effect of painkillers.

He woke up to bright rays of sunshine falling across his face and the sweet smell of his favorite hazelnut cappuccino and then... his throbbing body and wrecked mind.

“Good morning,” he heard Stiles say before he could open his eyes. “How are you feeling today?”

Derek blinked awake, catching sight of Stiles packing his backpack. _Shit. School._

“I think you should rest today,” Stiles prompted, of course he’d read Derek’s mind.

Stiles moved closer to the bed, blocking the sunlight from Derek’s face. He was still doing that thing - constantly gazing with searching eyes as if Derek was moments away from a breakdown - which was in fact true - and Stiles wanted to be prepared this time.

“Okay,” Derek wasn't going to argue, he had no energy left.

“Okay,” Stiles parroted, “... great,” he abruptly nodded to himself as if he was anticipating more protest and was taken aback by Derek’s quiet surrender. He was carrying coffee in one hand and a paper bag in the other. “I brought you some breakfast. You should-”

“I'm not hungry,” Derek cut in.

“You need to take your medicines.”

“Then I'll just _take the medicines_.”

Stiles arranged the items on the tray, nonetheless. “You can't take them on an empty stomach.” He unwrapped the contents. Unlike usual, the delicious smell of eggs and toast did nothing to Derek’s taste buds. “You need to eat something.”  He moved the tray right in front of Derek.

Derek looked between the food and Stiles. There they were, having their casual banter, it felt - normal.

“Just a few bites and then, um, maybe you can go back to sleep, eh?” Stiles insisted.

Derek leaned on his pillow, properly adjusting his comforter so as not to expose his bare thighs underneath. He’d hastily changed into boxers the night before and was sure he’d noticed a few scratches, just a couple of tiny reddish lines, barely visible, but enough to make him cringe at the thought of how he’d gotten them.

“Fine,” Derek finally mumbled, pursing his lips.

Stiles made sure he shoved at least a couple of bites into his mouth and drank some coffee. It actually felt good when the warm liquid soothed his strained throat.

“You should get to school,” Derek’s comment halted Stiles’ anxious march around the room. “You’ll miss your first lecture.”

Stiles stalked towards his bed again, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “Erm, I was… kind of thinking-”

“No.” Derek declared, cutting him off before the words could escape. He knew Stiles was probably considering skipping school and staying with him instead.

“But you -”

“I’ll be fine, Stiles.” Derek reassured him. “Anyways, I think I’m gonna sleep the whole day.” If he was lying, well, Stiles didn’t have to know. “Get me the notes, okay?”

Stiles huffed out a heavy sigh, clearly not convinced. But, he let it go.

 

******

  
  


The first time Derek stepped in front of the mirror, he was hit by a panic attack.

It was like any other day when he went to the bathroom to finish his morning routine. He splashed water on his face and winced at the piercing sting he felt around his cheek. When he raised his head to check, he froze at the sight of his reflection in the cabinet mirror.

It felt as if some stranger was staring back at him - tired eyes, dark circles, puffy nose, bruised lips, the obnoxious purple gash on his right cheek, reminding him - mocking him - that no, it definitely wasn't any other day. His eyes drifted down to other parts of his body. His stomach churned, fingers hovering over the red blotches around his collarbone and chest. Bite marks.

A strangled noise escaped his throat. He clutched the sink, knuckles going white, taking in thick gulps of air, trying to breathe, but nothing was reaching his lungs. His entire body went stiff, head heavy, legs slipping from under his body. On his way down, he tried to grab onto something - the cabinet, the sink, the steel pipes - but his hands weren't working. He couldn't do anything but writhe on the floor for torturous minutes like a fish out of water, gasping to breathe, waiting for the wave of panic to spread through his entire body from head to toe and wonder if this was what it felt like when you were dying.

He eventually got his senses back under control, he was laying flat on the bathroom tiles surrounded by the mess of shattered toiletries. He was wet and cold and still very much alive.

He got up on his shaking legs and slumped down on the toilet lid till he got his breathing right and some more time, till he got just enough strength to pick up a cloth and wipe up the mess, trying to avoid being cut by the glass. He dumped the rubbish in the trash and turned on the shower. He removed the rest of his clothes and stepped in to let the hot water stream over him, vigorously rubbing every inch of his body till his skin turned an angry pink.

He was so drained that he barely managed to put on his fresh pair of boxers and collapse on his messy bed.

Sleep didn’t come easy this time, he dreamt about his parents’ funeral, the coffins - two coffins - being lowered into the cold, hard earth, Laura in her black dress standing quietly under the oak tree clutching Cora to her chest while they both wept silent tears and then, there was a night sky, milky moon and a masked man, laughing and charging at him, biting him, everywhere.

_Shut the fuck up and enjoy_

_No!_ He screamed _. Don't touch me,_ he tried to escape.

“... rek!” He heard, someone calling for him, blurry and distant. “Jesus Christ! Wake up.” It was Stiles, he was there, somewhere. “ _Derek!_ ”

He woke up with a start.

His eyes caught the glassy brown pair. “Stiles...” he breathed and lunged for him, burying his face in Stiles’ neck, curling in and hiding, his fingers searching, finding his shirt to hold onto, clutching at it with his shaky grip. He felt strong arms enveloping him in a warm hug, soothing palm moving circles over his bare spine.

“It's okay… You're safe.” He heard Stiles’ soft murmurs near his ear and tried to clutch at him harder. Stiles’ grip tightened over him, rocking him till he stopped trembling.

It was Derek who let go first.

He fixed his eyes to the floor, not able to meet Stiles’. He was sitting there half naked, his scarred body on a full display. He knew there was nothing to hide anymore.

Stiles didn't say a word.

Derek watched him grab a shirt from Derek's closet and helped Derek to button it up properly when Derek's fingers couldn't quit fucking shaking.

Derek cleared his throat. “You're back early from school.”

“Yeah,” Stiles huffed, picked up Derek's comforter and arranged it in neat folds, without looking at Derek. “Last two classes were free,” he explained, quietly moving to grab Derek’s abandoned clothes from the bed, and tossed them into the hamper.

Harris would die before declaring a free class. If Derek thought Stiles was lying, he wasn't going to contradict him, especially when he had saved him from a potential panic attack, his second of the day.

He waited till Derek had put on his sweat pants before standing right in front of him.

“Here. Wear this,” Derek gaped at him as he unhooked his silver locket and held it in front of Derek.

Derek didn't twitch a single muscle.

“It's my mom's. I was ten when I lost her. I was-” Stiles paused, searching for a word. “... disturbed,” he completed calmly. “My dad told me it's some kind of a charm, y’know? To protect you from negative vibes and all that?”

Derek blinked at him, his heart racing.

“Wear it. You'll feel better.”

“I- I can't,” Derek stuttered. He stared at the swallow hanging in front of him and then back at Stiles. “You never take it off.”

“Well, I _am_ now.” Stiles moved a step closer, waiting for Derek's approval. And Derek, he was so overwhelmed that he couldn't do much but manage a half nod.

He held still as Stiles fastened the chain around his neck, his eyes stinging with the forming tears, he didn't want to cry even though they would be happy tears.

“Alright?” Stiles moved back, gazing at the chain around Derek’s neck, a satisfied smile tugging around his lips.

“Thanks,” Derek muttered, lower than a whisper.

“Nah, it suits you more.”

A small laugh puffed out of Derek's mouth, filling his lungs with fresh oxygen and it felt as if he could breathe properly for the first time since the night before.

“Wanna come for a run on the beach?” Stiles asked, gazing at Derek with earnest eyes.

Of course, Derek wasn't going to say no to that. He didn't want to be alone. He didn’t dare.

  


******

  


Through teary eyes Derek watched as the orange orb of sun ducked behind the horizon, painting the sky shades of red and pink, Stiles’ presence beside him was quiet but comforting.

Derek had dreamt about a moment like this - a calming, beautiful evening in Stiles’ company, just the two of them sitting on the still warm sand, lost in the rhythmic percussion of waves on the shore, watching the sunset while discussing their lives after high school, dreamy but hopeful, and then, Derek would search for that perfect moment when he would dare to open up about his feelings to his best friend.

“He tried to rape me,” Derek muttered, blunt and cold, his fingers clutching into fists to control his inner turmoil.

A moment passed in silence, but Derek didn’t dare look at Stiles, not yet ready to face the pity Stiles’ wary gazes would probably be holding. He fixed his eyes on the setting Sun.

A warm hand found his, fingers gently curling around his tight fist and Derek looked up.

“I'm -”  Stiles started, but his lips trembled on the next words.

Derek knew that Stiles had already realized the reason behind all his marks. It seemed the blunt declaration from Derek had shattered his last tiny hope.

“I’m with you, Derek,” he continued, in a firm tone. “... no matter what.” His voice faltered, eyes watering. He ducked his head, breathing heavily, hiding his tears.

Derek opened his fist and held Stiles’ hand in his. “Thank you,” he said genuinely.

The next moment, Stiles was tugging him into a tight hug, his fingers raking through Derek's hair, clasping him closer.  “We’re gonna find that bastard,” he hissed, shaking. “- and then…  I’m going to kill him.”

Derek wasn’t going to let Stiles do anything reckless, but even mentioning it had settled something inside him.

  


******

  


As soon as they got back Derek called Laura.

He felt light, as if a burden had been lifted from his sagging shoulders, knowing that someone who had stood by him his entire life, was still there. He just didn’t expect her to barge into the dormitory at three in the morning. He was deeply asleep with Stiles all snuggled behind him, when he received a call from the receptionist to sign in his crazy sister.

When he went down in the lobby, rubbing the sleep off from his eyes, Laura hugged him for a good five minutes knocking the air from his chest, no questions asked - no _hows_ or _whys_ \- just a pure tight hug which communicated way more than the words ever could. Derek held onto her as if she was his last thread to life, squeezed into her embrace, standing there in the middle of the lobby at three in the morning. He didn't care about anything else.

Stiles was awake when they returned to the room, sleepy eyed but delighted to see Laura after such a long time.

It was Derek who started the topic.

“I want to report this.”

Silence spread through the room. The other two stared at him.

“I don’t want to live the rest of my life wondering if… thinking it was all my fault while that asshole is free and searching for his next victim.”

“ _It was not your fault_.” Stiles declared, enunciating every single word, looking straight into Derek’s eyes and Derek felt his chest tighten with the sincerity of his words, the intensity of his gaze. He wanted to believe him.

“Okay kiddo, whatever you want.” Laura gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I spoke to my friend - you know Jordan Parrish, right?”

Derek nodded. He remembered the handsome, friendly guy that Laura had dated during college - the only one Derek actually liked from the bunch of guys Laura had dated - who was still friends with her and had joined the police department.

“We are meeting him today and he can guide us from there on.”

“Okay. but -” Derek hesitated. “But it’s been more than a day and I don’t know if I can -”

“Yes, you can,” Stiles interrupted him. “I did some research last night and you can totally report the incident even after weeks. Or if you don’t want to take this up with the police, you can contact a crisis center or a hotline and, at least, get a medical done. These things are pretty confidential.”

And here Derek thought that Stiles was researching his history thesis.

“Well, that is pretty much what Jordan suggested.” Laura looked impressed. “You have done your homework, boy.” She clapped on Stiles’ back and ruffled his hair.

Derek relaxed in his chair, watching his two favorite people outline the plan - for him. They were both there for him, a rock of solid support and he thought he was ready to fight anything that came at him.

 

******

  


Jordan helped them to complete the report formalities. Some specific questions crawled under Derek’s skin, but he was prepared for _what to expect_ after referring to the websites that Stiles had researched. He knew they were here to help.

His medical report came out clean, but the test to collect evidence wasn't much of a success. He'd pretty much washed off the remaining traces of the incident from his clothes, his body, and from his life. So, they had to rely on the blurry description that Derek gave of his assailant. It was tough. The man’s face was right there in front of his eyes, but his brain suddenly numbed when he tried to return to the torturous memory.

That day in the police station, Derek had his second panic attack.

He recovered though, physically, but was too embarrassed to even meet Jordan’s eyes. He felt weak and useless and curled into a ball of self loathing til Jordan dropped beside him on a bench, lightly patting his shoulder, and said - “You're a really brave kid, Derek.”

Derek tried to huff out a laugh to match the man’s pleasant, reassuring smile.

Laura moved into an apartment near his dormitory and it seemed she'd no plans to fly back to New York in near future at least. Thankfully, Deaton was there to look after their family business while she handled it remotely.

Derek went back to school again and things fell into routine - same old boring lectures, same old Harris, tons and tons of homework and same old silly bantering with Jackson. Things might have changed personally, but life didn't care. It moved on like a train without a destination and he'd no other option than to drift along with it.

He smiled at his friends and participated in a quiz competition. He even started enjoying their daily visits to the drama rehearsals and helped the team paint the background sets. After all, life wasn't all about a teenage crush. Of course, it pained him watching Stiles lingering around him while Lydia romanced Jackson on a stage. He’d never wanted Stiles to go through his own experience of unrequited love. He knew how much it hurt.

He still flinched at small sounds. Empty rooms, deserted corridors still freaked him out. There were occasional reoccurrences of nightmares and flashbacks, even in the middle of class. But, he had Stiles beside him - everywhere, every time.

Stiles bought him the entire watercolor studio set with a bunch of sketch pens, canvases and brushes, _oh those amazing amazing soft brushes_ , to help Derek resume his long forgotten hobby. He made mixes of Derek's favorite songs and kept his cell phone updated with his own personal favorite ones. In the library, he watched Derek read historical novels for hours, yawning with his wide mouth but never uttering a single word.

Stiles pulled him back every time Derek was about to zone out in the middle of a conversation. He held him through his panic attacks which actually helped a lot, even more than his weekly visits to a counsellor.

If Derek thought he could probably survive this, he was so wrong.

 

He was sitting on the Jeep’s hood with his usual gang of friends. His fingers unconsciously caressed the locket around his neck, taking in the background noise of Stiles’ fingers drumming on the metal, when he heard the roar of an engine approaching them.

“My boyfriend's here.” Danny clapped him on the arm and jumped off the hood.

It was a silver Lexus which looked vaguely familiar for some reason.

“Hey Ennis,” Danny yelled and Derek snapped his head up to see the driver - a tall, muscled man with bulging, dark eyes and a rugged look -

It was him.

All the times Derek had imagined seeing his assailant again - probably during identification procedures or during the court hearings - the guy had been always handcuffed, and not roaming around the streets in his flashy car, as if he hadn’t ruined someone’s life not more than a fifteen days before. Derek felt a sudden surge of fury.

“You asshole!” He was there right in front the man before anyone could blink, his hand balled in a tight fist, hitting the same spot on the man’s broken nose which was already patched up with an old band-aid.

“Derek!” someone yelled, but he was shaking with utter rage.

He felt strong arms wrap around him, tugging him away. But all Derek did was glare at the man’s shocked eyes, observing the exact moment when he too recognized Derek.

Fear flooded over his bloody face and Derek wanted to spit on him. He twisted against the grip, kicking his legs in the air.

“Jesus, Derek. Just-”

“It's _him_.” The words barely left Derek's mouth, but the tight hold on him instantly loosened.

Stiles stepped around in front of Derek and looked into his eyes for a solid minute, his face rigid, expression suddenly going wild. Derek watched as a vein twitched on his forehead.

The next moment, Stiles was all over the man, tugging at his shirt collar, dragging him to his feet. The man tried to throw a punch as a last resort, which Stiles dodged easily. Stiles flug his body onto him, shoving him against his car, pressing his forearm against the man’s throat.

“How dare you touch him,” Stiles barked into his face. He was fuming, his face contorted and flushed red, nostrils flaring.

“I…” the man stuttered. “I’m sorry.”

“Fuck you!”

Derek had never seen Stiles so violent before. He watched him with wide eyes while Stiles blocked every single strike thrown at him and punched the man, twice his size, like a sandbag, till Derek stopped him.

 

*******

  


“Stiles pretty much went berserk on him.” Derek would have thought Laura would disapprove if he hadn’t seen the satisfied grin spreading across her face. It was then he realised she would've done the same thing if she’d been there in Stiles’ place.

It was a tiring experience and stressful, but it was all worth it in the end. The police had arrested Ennis and Derek felt a knot loosen in his chest when he saw the cuffs clasped around the man’s wrists.

“Yeah,” he breathed, taking a sip of his coffee.

They were alone in her room, after so many troubling days, he was just chilling, not talking about the case or silently crying in each other's embrace. Derek could actually savour the smoky, sweet taste of his coffee - for the first time in ages.

“I've never seen Stiles so angry before,” he confirmed.

“He cares for you, Derek,” Laura prompted, her eyes gleaming, wanting to convey so much more. “... a lot,” she added after a beat.

Even though she was hiding behind her mug, Derek knew her too well to ignore it. She wasn't going to it let go. Afterall, during his summer breaks, she’d caught him staring at Stiles’ photo embarrassingly often.

“Laura,” he warned. “Whatever you're getting at right now, is not gonna work.” He blew into his already cold coffee, not knowing what else to do. “He's my best friend,” he shrugged a shoulder. “Of course, he cares.”

“And, what about you?”

Derek stilled at the direct question. He looked at her for a brief second before dropping his gaze back to his coffee. There was no point in lying.

“It doesn't matter,” he murmured.

“Why not?”

“Because… ” Derek let out an exasperated sound, clutching at his mug. Laura was completely unfazed by his irritated looks. She tilted her head, waiting. “Because he deserves… better.”

Before Derek realized what she was doing, Laura was out of her seat. She strolled towards him, crouching down in front of his chair and took both his hands in her warm grip. “You _are_ better, Derek,” she said like she meant it.

Derek almost smiled. Of course, she would say that, he was her beloved little brother. According to her, he was the most perfect thing that had ever happened to mankind. He lowered his eyes, not meeting hers.

“I don’t know, Laura,” he muttered. “Sometimes I wish things were different, y’know? Like, I was _just_ his best friend and not… not pathetically in love with him.”

Laura huffed out a long sigh, lifting his hands till he looked up. “Derek, just tell me one thing, okay?” She started, her tone steady. “If _you_ don’t approve of your feelings for him, then how do you expect Stiles to understand them?”

Derek had no answer to that.

  


******

 

It was pretty late and Derek had to wrap up his painting. He was working on a rainbow theme for one of the drama sets in the auditorium, All the beautiful colors, bright and vibrant, made his heart happy.

“You're smiling.” Derek halted his brush on the canvas, raising his head at the sudden comment, only to find Stiles leaning against a wall. His arms were crossed over his chest, watching Derek paint with a fond smile on his face.

“Uh, it's nothing.” Derek ducked his head, heat reaching to the tips of his ears. “I'm almost done for the day.” He tried to change the topic, putting his brushes in a water bowl.

Stiles didn't tease him more, but his smile widened. “Ain't you gonna clean them?” He pointed at Derek's hands.

Derek spread his fingers and turned his palms in all angles, noticing the color patches on them. “I guess, I should.” He searched the area, hoping to find his cloth somewhere.

“Here.” Stiles found it instead. He handed it over to Derek and knelt down beside him, capping the scattered paint bottles one by one, helping him clear the mess. It was sweet.

Derek tore his eyes away and tried to focus on cleaning up. He knew he would probably need a thorough shower but Derek didn't mind the colors. In fact, he liked it when he returned to the dorms with color stains on his shirt. They reminded him that he was doing something that people appreciated, something to look forward to, something to distract himself and something he really loved.

“Come here,” Stiles took the cloth from Derek’s hand. Damn, he must have zoned out again. Derek was a bit taken aback when Stiles reached for his face and not his hands. “You got some on your nose,” he explained, gently wiping Derek's nose in full concentration with his tongue poking out from between his teeth.

Derek couldn't help but snort.

“What?” Stiles complained.

“Okay, okay.” Derek straightened his face. “It tickles.” He laughed again.

Stiles rolled his eyes and continued his job. A moment passed and Stiles’ motions faltered, eyebrows creasing. “Your bruise...” he muttered.

“Huh?”

“The bruise, Derek.” He gestured to Derek's cheek. “It's almost healed.”

“Oh.” Derek didn't know what else to say when Stiles’ thumb started caressing his cheek, his touch so gentle that Derek wanted to lean in.

Stiles didn't pull away even when Derek acknowledged his comment, instead, his other fingers joined in, brushing against Derek's jaw. His eyes hovered over Derek's face, gazing at him like he was his sun and his moon and…   _Shit_ , he needed to stop thinking.

“Let's go,” Derek blurted out little loudly, making Stiles jump and back away immediately.

“Yea… yep,” Stiles scanned the floor for nothing, scratching the back of his neck. “Erm, let's go.”

They picked up their backpacks and waved goodbyes to their friends.

Derek was still thinking about Stiles fingers against his face, when he was pulled back by the sound of a laugh. His legs immediately slowed down, knowing that it was coming from around the next turn.

Nothing could have prepared Derek for the sight of Lydia making out with Jackson - off stage this time.

Especially, not in front of Stiles. Fuck.

Derek's heart skipped a beat. When he looked around, Stiles was already striding away from the spot, taking the completely opposite route than they’d intended to take.

“Stiles!” He ran after him, balancing his backpack on his shoulder. “Stiles, listen.” He grabbed Stiles’ arm and spun him around.

Derek was panting. It was a short chase, it was hardly a chase, but the intensity of the situation was making him tense. He'd expected to face a fuming Stiles once again - drowning in jealousy and hurt - but to his surprise, Stiles looked pretty much in control.

“I, uh…” Derek hesitated, gesturing behind his back, “... um, about Lydia and Jackson-”

“I don't care,” Stiles cut in, his voice low but firm.

“What?” Derek wasn't sure if he was listening right.

Stiles sighed. “I said...” he took a step closer, eyes locked on Derek. “ _I don't care,_ ” he enunciated his every single word.

“But… but-” Derek stuttered. This was so damn confusing. “- you wanted to date her.”

“Yes, I _wanted_ to,” Stiles confirmed. “But not anymore,” he shrugged, as if it was the most casual thing to mention ever. He paused for a beat. “Actually it's been a while. You were right, Derek.” His hand moved to Derek’s forehead, brushing off a few strands of hair with his fingertips, settling it on Derek’s shoulder instead. “It was, kind of, more about Jackson than about Lydia… or me.”

Derek’s eyes narrowed. He stared at Stiles. The last time they’d talked about this, Stiles had pretty much wanted to try.

“But you kept visiting the auditorium every single day… to watch her.” Derek wasn’t sure why he sounded like he was trying to convince Stiles about the Lydia thing. It was, in fact, exactly the opposite of what Derek had wished for.

Stiles face suddenly straightened, expression intense.

“It was because of you, Derek,” he whined, face falling as if Derek’s words were physically hurting him. “I kept coming here because I wanted to watch you draw. _Jesus Christ, Derek,_ have you seen your face when you paint. It's like… you're pouring your soul out on that white canvas. You own like - fifteen types of _black_ pens and I like to hear it when you try to explain to me the difference between each one of them. I love to watch when you keep stroking those soft brushes as if they’re your personal brand of pets. I kept coming here because you smile when you’re here and… I think I could watch you like that my _whole damn life_.”

Derek blinked at Stiles, his brain refusing to react.

No one spoke for a good minute. They just stared at each other, searching for some answers.

It was Stiles who broke the silence. “I spoke to Lydia that day… when we worked on the history thesis.”

Derek was still speechless, but he was listening. God, he was all ears.

“She wanted me to get a reality check. She thinks I use _your_ name like a full stop.”

Derek’s heart started thudding so loudly, he was sure he heard it.

“And, um, she also suggested to get my brain checked,” Stiles huffed out a laugh and Derek followed. _Oh, Lydia_. That kind of relieved the tension in the air.

“I just want you to know that I'm interested… in you.”

_Wait. What?_

“But it's okay, y’know?” Stiles shook his head, trying for a casual tone, but clearly failing. “It’s… it's _fine_ if you don't want this. I don't want you to get stressed or feel pressured. Just… I don't want to lose your friendship”

The next moment, Derek was lunging at Stiles, kissing him full on his lips.

Stiles wasn’t prepared for that and stumbled backwards a step with the force of Derek’s weight. But he recovered quickly, planting his foot firmly on the floor, clutching at Derek’s shoulders, pulling him in for a sneering kiss.

Derek’s eyes fluttered close, melting into the sensation of Stiles’ lips moving against his, soft and insistent as if they had been waiting for this moment for an eternity.

Derek had to back away as he struggled to catch his breath. He pulled back a little, eyes searching Stiles’ face which looked equally dazed.

“ _I want this,_ ” he breathed. “I -” he choked, lips trembling. “I have wanted this for _four fucking years._ ”

“Four years? Oh my God, Derek!” Stiles shrieked, cupping Derek’s face. “I, uh, you - _Four years?_ Seriously? I feel like an idiot.”

A soft laugh escaped Derek’s mouth. “Yeah, that you -” His next words were muffled by Stiles’ mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> * Comments/Kudos are gold!! They keeps motivating me to write more  
> 


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